The feast was a rotting thing.

We sat in the vaulted hall of the manor house. The air was thick. It smelled of wet wool. It smelled of old blood. The candles flickered. They cast long shadows. The shadows stretched across the stone floor. They looked like fingers. They reached for us.

I was not a lord. I was a maker. I made bread. I made the sweetmeats that kept the hunger away. My hands were rough. My hands were stained with yeast. The yeast was white. It looked like dust. It looked like bone.

Lord Aldric sat at the head of the table. He was a large man. He ate with his mouth open. He did not speak. He only ate. His servants brought him more meat. The meat was black. It steamed. The steam curled up. It looked like smoke from a dead fire.

My friend was there. His name was Julian. He sat to my left. He did not eat. He watched. He watched me. His eyes were dark. They were deep pools. He had come from the city. He had brought news. The news was bad. The plague was near. The bell had tolled. The bell tolled for the dead.

I looked at my hands. I looked at the table. There was a bowl of paste. The paste was green. It was made of herbs. It was made of roots. It was the cure. Or so I was told. I had made it. I had ground the leaves. I had boiled the water. I had waited for the stars to align. I had whispered the words. The words were old. The words were heavy.

The paste was the promise. It was the thing that would save us. It was the thing that would keep the dark away. I believed it. I had to believe it. If I did not believe it, I would break. I would shatter like glass.

Julian leaned in. He did not speak. He only looked. His gaze was a blade. It cut through the air. It cut through me. I felt cold. The cold was in my bones. The cold was in my soul.

Aldric spoke. His voice was low. It was like gravel. "The paste," he said. "Is it ready?"

I looked at the bowl. The green paste sat there. It did not move. It did not breathe. It was still. It was alive.

"It is ready," I said. My voice was small. It was a whisper.

Aldric reached for the bowl. His hand was large. His hand was red. The nails were long. The nails were black. He lifted the bowl. He lifted it high. The liquid sloshed. It spilled. A drop fell. It fell on the stone. It hissed. It vanished.

The drop was gone. The stone was unchanged.

Aldric poured the paste into a cup. The cup was gold. The cup was empty. The paste filled it. It filled it to the brim. He held the cup. He held it out to me.

"Drink," he said.

I did not move. I looked at Julian. Julian looked at me. His face was pale. His face was tight. He shook his head. A small movement. A barely visible shake.

"Drink," Aldric said again. The word was a command. The word was a chain. It wrapped around my throat. It tightened.

I took the cup. The gold was cold. It burned my skin. The heat was sudden. The heat was sharp. I raised the cup to my lips. I smelled it. It smelled of earth. It smelled of rain. It smelled of death.

I drank.

The liquid was thick. It was bitter. It coated my tongue. It coated my throat. I swallowed. It went down. It burned. The burn was deep. The burn was inside.

I waited. I waited for the change. I waited for the strength. I waited for the light.

Nothing happened.

The room was silent. The candles burned. The shadows stretched. Aldric watched me. His eyes were hard. His eyes were empty.

"More," he said.

I reached for the bowl. My hand trembled. The bowl was light. The bowl was heavy. I lifted it. I poured. The green liquid flowed. It flowed like honey. It flowed like sap.

I drank again.

The burn was worse. The burn was a fire. The fire was in my chest. The fire was in my belly. I coughed. I gagged. The liquid came up. It spilled on my chest. It spilled on my tunic. The green stain spread. It spread like a map. It spread like a wound.

Julian stood up. He moved. He moved to me. He placed a hand on my shoulder. The hand was warm. The hand was steady. He looked into my eyes. His eyes were wet. He said nothing. He did not need to say anything. The look was enough. The look was a wall. The look was a door.

Aldric stood up. He was angry. His face was red. His veins were black. He walked toward me. His steps were heavy. His steps were slow. He loomed over me. He was a giant. He was a shadow.

"You are weak," he said. His voice was a hiss. "You are a maker of nothing. You are a fool."

I did not answer. I could not answer. My mouth was full of the taste. The taste was bitter. The taste was ash.

He grabbed my arm. His grip was iron. He pulled me up. I stumbled. I fell. My head hit the stone. The pain was sharp. The pain was bright. I saw stars. The stars were green. The stars were fading.

Aldric released me. He walked away. He sat down. He picked up a piece of meat. He ate. He chewed. He swallowed. He did not look at me.

I sat on the floor. The stone was cold. The stone was hard. The green stain on my tunic was dry. It was crusty. It was cracked.

Julian knelt beside me. He took my hand. His hand was rough. His hand was kind. He held my hand. He held it tight.

"We must leave," he said. His voice was low. It was soft. "We must leave now."

I looked at him. I looked at the bowl. The bowl was empty. The bowl was clean. The paste was gone. The promise was gone.

I had drunk it. I had taken it into myself. I had become the vessel. The vessel was broken. The vessel was empty.

I stood up. My legs were weak. My legs were shaking. I looked at Aldric. He was eating. He was satisfied. He was full.

I looked at the bowl. I looked at my hands. My hands were stained. The stain was green. The stain was deep. It was in the lines of my palms. It was in the creases of my fingers.

I was the paste. I was the cure. I was the poison.

I turned to Julian. He was waiting. He was patient. He was steady. I nodded. I nodded once. A small movement. A final movement.

We walked to the door. The door was heavy. The door was old. The hinges creaked. The sound was sharp. The sound was loud. It echoed in the hall.

Aldric did not look up. He did not care. He was eating. He was full.

We stepped out into the night. The air was cold. The air was thin. The stars were out. The stars were bright. The stars were indifferent.

We walked. We walked away from the manor. We walked away from the feast. We walked away from the promise.

The moon was full. The moon was white. The moon was watching. It saw us. It saw the stain. It saw the break.

I felt the burn. It was still there. It was deep. It was inside. It was becoming me. It was becoming my skin. It was becoming my blood.

I did not look back. I did not look at the house. The house was dark. The house was silent. The house was empty.

Julian walked beside me. He did not speak. He did not need to speak. His presence was enough. His presence was a fire. The fire was small. The fire was warm.

We walked into the dark. The dark was vast. The dark was deep. The dark was waiting.

I carried the stain. I carried the weight. I carried the truth. The truth was simple. The truth was cruel. I had chosen to drink. I had chosen to believe. I had chosen to be the vessel.

The vessel was broken. The vessel was empty. But the vessel was mine.

The road was long. The road was hard. The road was endless.

I walked. I walked on.

The burn was a constant. It was a pulse. It was a heartbeat. It beat in my chest. It beat in my soul.

I was not a lord. I was not a hero. I was a maker. I had made a thing. The thing had consumed me.

The moon followed us. The moon was a ghost. The moon was a witness.

We walked into the night. We walked into the void.

The promise was not kept. The promise was broken. The promise was me.

I accepted it. I accepted the burn. I accepted the stain. I accepted the end.

The night was dark. The night was cold. The night was true.

I was the distant promise. I was the thing that was not there. I was the shadow that fell. I was the dust that settled.

I was gone.

I was here.

The road stretched out. The road was gray. The road was silent.

Julian’s hand was in mine. His hand was warm. His hand was real.

We walked.

We walked on.

The stars faded. The stars vanished. The sky was black. The sky was empty.

I was the only thing that was green. I was the only thing that was alive.

I was the cure. I was the poison.

I was the end.

The silence was loud. The silence was heavy. The silence was full.

I breathed. The air was sharp. The air was cold.

I walked.

I walked on.

The manor was behind me. The manor was a ghost. The manor was a memory.

The feast was over. The meat was cold. The wine was sour. The candles were out.

The hall was dark. The hall was empty. The hall was dead.

I was alive. I was burning. I was fading.

The distance grew. The distance was infinite. The distance was absolute.

I was far. I was near. I was here. I was gone.

The story was told. The story was done. The story was true.

I closed my eyes. I opened my eyes. The night was the same. The night was different.

I was different.

I was the stain. I was the burn. I was the truth.

I walked.

I walked on.

The end was near. The end was far. The end was now.

The night swallowed us. The night took us. The night was our home.

I was the distant promise. I was the thing that waited. I was the thing that never came.

I was the silence. I was the dark. I was the end.

The road was long. The road was hard. The road was mine.

I walked.

I walked on.